Killzone: Underworld
by Hawki
Summary: With the deaths of their commanders, both the helghast and ISA forces on Vekta were thrown into disaray, even with Earth and Helghan reinforcing their respective armies. Yet even then, the fighting continued. Both in Vekta City...and below it...
1. Concrete Jungle

.

**Killzone: Underworld**

**Chapter 1: Concrete Jungle**

This is Vekta. An Eden among the stars. The jewel of Alpha Centauri B. The bread basket of the United Colonial Nations. A testament to mankind's ability to not only go beyond the boundaries of his home system, but to push his boundaries even further.

This is Vekta. Proof of the imperialistic nature of the UCN. A festering wound in the pride of the Helghan Empire. A world that should by all rights be theirs, yet has been denied to them by their erstwhile cousins. A lesser species.

This is Vekta. A warzone. A battlefield for over a month. An Eden nurtured by the blood of the fallen. A festering wound for the UCN. A baptism of fire for the loyal servants of the Helghan Empire. A world that, as the Second Extrosolar War rages, where no quarter will be asked or given. A world where both warring nations are feeding the bloodshed, reinforcing their lines.

This is Vekta. Where the battle rages between the armies of human and helghast. Where battles are fought over large scales, dwarfing anything that has come before in the centuries of space exploration...

...and where battles are, at times, fought by but two...

...and that is all it takes to continue the bloodshed.

* * *

A few months ago, if someone had told James Taylor that the helghast would invade Vekta, he would have laughed in their face. If someone had told him that the planet's SD platform would turn out to be entirely useless in stopping said invasion, he would have repeated the sentiments of General Bradley Vaughton and maintain that the UCN's crown jewel was impregnable due to the orbital installation. If someone had told him that General Stuart Adams was the reason for its failure, that he was an agent for the helghast and that both he and General Vaughton would die over the course of the last weeks of August, 2357, he would have claimed that such speculation was better left unsaid.

But it _had_ happened. All of it. And now, James Taylor, ISA greenie and lieutenant in Vekta's Rapid Reaction Force, found himself in the hellhole that was Vekta City, leading a platoon through its ruined streets in the hopes that the vengeful Helghast Third Army wouldn't send them the same way as the dodo.

"Um, lieutenant?" came a voice. "The sit-rep?"

"...pardon?"

"...nothing to report sir. Never mind."

"Um...good. That's...very good..."

More good than Taylor cared to admit. More good than Sergeant Eubanks knew should be present in the platoon's commanding officer.

Sighing, the newbie leant against a wall, wiping beads of sweat through his dark hair. Even times of calm were taxing for him.

In the event of helghast invasion, the worst things should have got would be along the lines of SNAFU-fascists invading, did what they did best and some bullshit speech would be broadcast from Helghan by Autarch Visari or one of his cronies, the names of whom escaped the CO. Details had seemed so unimportant over the years of training, even through an officer's commission. It had seemed like overkill to even maintain a RRF force on Vekta, considering its supposedly impregnable nature. Yet now, Taylor found himself commanding around thirty men in the northern part of Vekta City, part of a fragmented chain of command whose only reprieve was that as far as the ISA knew, was that the helghast Third Army was in equal disarray, courtesy of the death of General Lente. As far as the lieutenant understood, it was a race to see which side could regroup first. And until the gauntlet was thrown down, units such as his were effectively on their own.

Which, for someone who'd had no combat or command experience up until a month ago, was a living nightmare.

"Time is thirteen-hundred," came a voice. "Nothing to report."

"Good..." Taylor murmured. "That's good..."

"Oh sure...you know, we wouldn't want to actually _do _anything now would we?"

Taylor glanced at the source of the voice-Corporal Carr, effectively the scribe of Third Platoon, Company "no longer exists, I'm afraid you're on your own." The inherent frustration in such a statement seemed to boil its way right down to her, though Taylor didn't know why-all her family were on Mars as he recalled, and right now, doing nothing seemed to be the best thing anyone could do. They were the RRF-rapid, but reactionary.

_Or maybe that's what the problem is...we reacted to an invasion, and were sent reeling within days..._

"Take a break corporal..." Taylor murmured, getting to his feet as he walked across the room of the building the platoon was holed up in. "I'll let you know if anything changes..."

"Yeah...you do that, sir..."

The lieutenant gritted his teeth. The helghast were bad enough...

Still, as bad as the helghast were, they were at least giving Vekta's citizenry a reprieve, even if it was because the head of the Third Army had been cut off. And as he approached the hole in the wall of the third floor office of No. 25, Miller Street, Taylor was able to appreciate that fact. So was Eubanks, currently leaning over the remaining section of wall with a pair of field binoculars.

"Sergeant? Anything to report?"

"All quiet on the southern front, sir," Eubanks responded, not taking his eyes off the lenses. "Don't know about the west, but poetry was never my thing."

_Funny...but do I acknowledge it as such? Do I ignore it? Or do I..._

It was incredible, how the simple things could get him worked up so much. Eubanks hadn't saluted, though Taylor couldn't fault him for that-out here, exposed, the last thing they wanted to do was to give helghast snipers insight as to which Interplanetary Strategic Alliance grunt they should knock off. That was textbook material and he knew it. No...it was the stuff he hadn't been trained for that got to him. And even while the situation the platoon faced was arguably textbook as well, Taylor couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as he gazed to the south...

Miller Street was situated on one side of a stormwater channel, No. 25 looking over one of the few remaining bridges over said channel, leading to the parallel Dorothy Street. It was a position that was easy to defend and hard to attack-ideal for the platoon, but also ideal for the helghast on the other side. Taylor had no idea as to how many of the higs were holed up there, nor did he have any way of finding out. All in all, he wasn't even sure if they were there at all-PFC Raja had been looking through his scope since noon, and hadn't seen a single goggle-head all day. For a people who were willing to fight and die for their leader at the drop of a hat, they were being surprisingly passive.

_Or maybe they're like me. Maybe they don't want the responsibility..._

Sighing, and not saying a single word to either the sergeant or private, Taylor returned to the relative safety of the office's interior, complete with the smell of spilt coffee, ink and the blood of innocent people who hadn't been lucky enough to escape being murdered by fanatics. It was the safest place to be right now, but also the last one James Taylor wanted to be in.

_Well, it could be worse. The helghast could be trying to make us leave..._

That, at least, was the silver lining in the Vektan sky. He didn't want to command, but the enemy wasn't forcing him to. And holed up here, with his men doing the jobs they were trained for, he saw no indication that the status quo would change anytime soon.

And as he made his way to the few remaining water coolers, Taylor supposed he should make the most of it.

* * *

"Street is clear. Move up."

By Visari, just _saying _those words made him feel ill. "Street is clear, move up." Why on Helghan should he care whether the streets were clear or not? Why should he have to wait at all? And why was it, after days of crawling through this city like a Helghan spider, that those words were beginning to feel natural?

_And thus the mighty Third Army has been reduced to this...little men, scurrying through the shadows..._

"Sergeant? Are you leading us?"

"...yes. Now move."

...and, apparently, forgetting themselves as well.

Gritting his teeth, Hans Versilli led his squad down the street, weaving in and out of the rubble, cars and whatever else presented cover in the event of ISA scum acting like the cowards they were. God, he hated this place. Hated this planet. He hated everything about Vekta's capital and that there seemingly wasn't anyone around to channel his hatred wasn't doing him any favours. It had been different a month ago-Autarch Visari's speech had filled him with hatred, boarding the transports for the invasion fleet had filled with adrenaline and the moment of landing on what was once Helghan soil allowed him to release both of those things in a deliverance of justice that had been denied to his people for centuries. But now, with the Third Army in disarray with the loss of General Lente, he'd been reduced to a lone man commanding a single squad, cut off from any link in the chain of command. Right now, the best he could do was head south and hope to rejoin the war machine that would prove that the helghast were not snakes, but hydras. Even with a head cut off, they could still fight. And, if rumours were to be believed about Visari sending another commander to replace Lente, grow back heads as well...

All that mattered was that when the time came, he could be one of the claws.

"Sergeant, look..." came the voice of Lance Corporal Vokrri. "A crossing..."

Versilli headed to the ground, taking cover behind a burnt out car. There, up ahead, was a crossing across the stormwater channel-a rarity in objective terms, a miracle in subjective ones. Through a combination of accident and design, most of the crossings had been taken out-no doubt mostly of the latter by humans who wished to escape from their superiors' wrath. Yet here, for whatever reasons, his squad had been granted a reprieve.

"We'll head over it..." Versilli breathed through his mask, his HUD feeding him data on aspects such as the distance to the bridge and its length. "Hopefully we can find more of our brothers on the other side..."

"Our brothers in arms..." Private Schiedler murmured. "No doubt elated at our retreat..."

Versilli gritted his teeth-his thoughts exactly, though he at least had enough restraint not to utter them. He had a responsibility-to lead his men, to regroup with the Third Army and wait for salvation to arrive from Helghan. And if that meant..._retreating_...so be it.

"Alright, we're moving out..." the sergeant murmured, grasping his StA52 assault rifle far tighter than was necessary. "Follow my lead..."

And thus the squad followed their leader. Followed him past the car...followed him through the rubble...followed him to the bridge that led to their brethren.

And, as they passed by No. 25, Miller Street, followed him into an ambush...

* * *

"Yeah! Get some! Come and get some!"

Taylor didn't know why Eubanks glanced at him and muttered something about "branches of service," but right now, in this moment of elation, shouts and M82-G gunfire, he didn't particularly care. Lady Luck had smiled on him and his platoon and he wasn't about to waste it. No...it was the helghast that were going to be "wasted," as some put it. And with two of the ten helghast having already fallen down into the filthy street, the waste was well on its way to incineration.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel!" someone exclaimed as a third helghast hit the ground, nailed through his goggled head as he rose from cover to take a pot-shot at the platoon's position. "Let's see how the higs like it this time!"

_Probably don't like it at all..._Taylor reflected, watching as one of the helghast broke from cover to flee across the bridge. It wasn't long until the back of his black uniform was stained with red, a shade quite different from that of the Helghan Empire's insignia.

Considering his lack of experience, and that he had to make up a battle 'plan' on the spot, the lieutenant was surprised things were going as well as they were. Private Pearn had first pointed out the helghast in the street below them, apparently intent on heading south across the bridge. Even with the sub-humans unaware of the RRF forces, Taylor had been caught offguard, the close presence of the UCN's greatest enemy sending a chill down his spine. All he could do was cough out "fire" and let his men do the rest. He'd actually been one of the last to open fire, and had only enjoyed it as much as he did because he was but one of many. With the higs being fish in a barrel, ducks at a carnival or any other number of metaphors, Taylor's indecisiveness was a moot point.

_Or was..._

Four helghast were down, but the fifth to join them was a long time coming. The enemy had taken cover behind everything from burnt out cars to the husk of a heavy hovertank. And despite the platoon's elevated position, they couldn't down them.

"Lieutenant, orders!" Eubanks barked.

"Um...what?" Taylor murmured, his previous feeling of elation becoming as empty as one of his rifle's shell casings.

"The higs have taken cover. How-do-we-root-them-out?"

You knew things were bad when your NCO had to emphasize every syllable. And when an individual like Pearn fell back from his position as one of the higs put a bullet in his head, things got even worse.

"Um...we flank them," Taylor breathed, trying to recall tactics that until a month ago, had seemed superfluous. He gestured to Eubanks and the RRF troopers around him. "You lot, with me. We're heading to ground level."

"Permission to speak freely sir?" Corporal York asked.

"Permission denied. Now move it."

If Taylor had waited, he might have realized that his plan, while not terrible, was not the best option on the table. If Taylor had let York speak, he might have agreed to his plan to head to the structure's roof, where the lack of cover would be offset by their advantage over the higs. Then again, as his mind whirred with half-remembered tactical scenarios, Taylor couldn't listen to anyone. Besides, his head was pounding, his forehead was drenched in sweat and considering that none of Vekta's defence forces wore helmets for some reason, he couldn't hide either of those traits. So all he _could _do was take out the higs before he lost all confidence in himself.

His men didn't matter. Listening to Eubanks curse under his breath, he knew they'd lost confidence in him already.

The RRF CO squinted as he led the group out through the building's shattered entrance, crouching down as he moved to the right beside cover. There was enough rubble and burnt-out vehicles on the streets for that level of cover to be maintained, but whether it was enough to keep them hidden from sight from the helghast long enough was another matter. They were out of sight, but as their mass produced rifles joined the symphony of ISA firearms, they certainly weren't out of mind.

"Should have headed to the roof..." York murmured, wiping some dust and sweat off his shaved head. "But does the L.T. listen? No, of course not..."

"Shut up corporal," Taylor snapped. "We're going to flank them and that's that. Now-..."

"Grenade!"

It was incredible. A single word, somehow heard over the entire concerto of gunfire. A single act, throwing that concerto into syncopated dissonance. A single explosive device, thrown by one of the higs to the upper levels. And in an explosion of dust, rock and human blood, the piece of music came to an end.

As the RRF soldiers on the ground yelled and took cover as concrete fell around them, there was no request for an encore.

"Lieutenant! Are you alright?"

Eubanks...was it him that was shaking the RRF CO? It was hard for Taylor to tell, the ringing in his ears making it difficult to distinguish the sergeant's voice from...anything. Not the groans of his makeshift squad, not the calls to "go go go!" from the helghast, not even the sound of anguished screaming and calls for a medic from inside the building. Yet distinguishment didn't matter right now. The helghast were falling back-across the bridge, as a peak out of cover revealed. And in the midst of this stuff-up, that was one thing that he could do about.

"Lieutenant, we should-..."

"You lot, on me!" the RRF CO yelled, getting to his feet and thanks to a piece of building, managed to stay on them despite feeling like jelly. "We're going after those bastards."

"Sir, we should hold our-..."

"I said **move**!"

Yelling, Taylor ran after the helghast, firing his rifle like a wildman. And for better or worse, the squad followed. Never mind that Visari's puppets rarely retreated with no ulterior motive, never mind that they could have opened fire from the northern side of the bridge without exposing themselves to whatever the higs could throw at them. To James Taylor, it didn't matter. The helghast squad was on its own and the other side of the bridge was clearly deserted given the lack of assistance any helghast present might have leant. He was going to capture or kill these bastards, take the opposing side and with any luck, not write any condolence letters for his men in the building.

Which he wouldn't. It was the men beside him that were in danger.

In the storm of gunfire, the helghast fell, one after the other. Only one made it to the other side of the bridge, and with Taylor's squad passing its centre, he wouldn't be going any further. At least, that was the plan. A plan that was at odds with what Third Army soldiers had done earlier. They didn't need to defend the bridge from ISA infantry. Not when they'd rigged it to blow with explosives that would detonate upon the detection of any human bio-sign. Bio-signs that as Taylor passed the centre, activating the detonation process, were about to be snuffed out.

"Get some you mother-..."

_Beep...beep...beep..._

_What in the..._

Time slowed down. Taylor saw the bombs...heard the beeping...and in this single moment, caught between life and death, did the only thing he could do...jump. Jump for dear life. Jump into the air, and be catapulted further through it as the shockwave of the explosion caught up with him. Jump and fall, hitting the floor of the stormwater channel with a _crack _that signified the descent into unconsciousness.

All things considered, he was lucky.

After all, as the bodies of his squad mates hit the stormwater channel, none of their bodies intact, their unconsciousness was quite permanent.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, with Helghan being destroyed at the end of _Killzone 3_, it's time to go back to Vekta. Or not, considering that I concieved this story back even before _Killzone 2 _was announced, namely basing it on the live action ads of _Liberation_. No prizes for guessing who's who in regards to the characters and their counterparts. _

_Just hope the writing is better than their acting... XD_


	2. Of Fire and Shadow

**Killzone: Underworld**

**Chapter 2: Of Fire and Shadow**

_James...it's time to get up..._

_Don't...want to...too early..._

_James, don't make me tell you again..._

_Just...five more...minutes..._

_James, get up! Now! Move it before I-..._

"I'm up, I'm up!"

Taylor awoke with a start...and immediately regretted it. Unconscious, dreaming, sleeping...whatever he'd been doing, whatever his state, he was at least mercifully free from the real world. A real world named Vekta, currently reeling from an invasion by the helghast. A real world, carrying on with its rotation to where it was now night in the south-eastern hemisphere, one of the planet's two moons shining like a pale angel. A world where Taylor was in as much pain as the planet itself

_Damnit...why...don't we...have...helmets?_

Taylor didn't know. All he knew was that his body ached all over, and that the only reason he hadn't broken something was likely because of his body armour. Armour that unfortunately, didn't extend to his head, which was soaked in sweat, dust and dry blood from the fall. Oh, and it was pounding like a sonic jackhammer. With one hand used to push him off the ground and the other clutching his forehead, the lieutenant managed to move up against one of the walls of the channel, exhaling all the way.

_Of course, we have body armour. Very heavy body armour. But why...don't we have..._

The CO shook it off. There was no use complaining. Especially when he had no-one to complain to...for some reason. Hadn't he had a squad with him when he crossed the bridge? A bridge that...was no longer there?

Taylor groaned-thinking was only making his headache worse.

It was like a dream, yet far less pleasant than his flashback to his primary school days and far less clear as well. Yet while the memory felt as insubstantial as the dew of early morning, the trooper found it coming back. He'd been leading his men over the bridge that extended across the stormwater channel, chasing the remaining helghast...yet something had happened. An explosion...it had sent him flying through the air...

_But I jumped...I heard it first. But what about the rest of the...oh God..._

The stormwater channel had been dry to that point. As the barely digested contents of a MRE hit its concrete, it became slightly less so.

Ten RRF soldiers. Ten men. Ten comrades. Ten people who had been reduced to being less than people, scattered throughout the remains of the crossing. Even as his stomach lurched, even as his inhaling increased for reasons other than exhaustion, Taylor couldn't look away. Not from Eubanks, his naturally dark skin now scorched completely black. Not from York, the right side of his body barely attached to his left. Not from Dennison, his intestines being the only thing attaching his legs to his waist. No...he couldn't look away from any of them. Because even if their eyes had been burnt away, even if their eyes were facing anywhere but their commander, Taylor knew the truth. He'd killed them. His inexperience had killed them. And right now, he was laying beside the bodies of the people his _idiocy _had murdered.

_Oh God...oh God..._

It was too much to take. He had to get out of here. Yet as he rose to his feet, it seemed that his body was not one with his mind. He fell to the ground, as if falling to the wall of Hell itself. No, his body said. The mind hasn't suffered enough.

Or maybe it was for another reason. Because as the lieutenant realized over the next few seconds, facing the ground might be the only thing keeping him alive...

"ISA scum...not dead soon enough if you ask me."

"How many do you think?"

"Nine, ten...what does it matter? They're like cockroaches anyway."

_Helghast? _Taylor wondered. _They're here?_

He continued to face the ground, trying to keep his breathing under control. He couldn't see where the voices were coming from and knew it would be suicide to glance at their source, but from what his ears told him, they were coming from above. Presumably the southern side, based on the general direction of the sound and dispersal of the Third Army.

"Was it worth it though? Losing the bridge just for a handful of these grunts?"

"Once the new general arrives, it'll be academic."

Taylor focussed on the words, if only to keep him from breaking down then and there. New general? As in, a replacement for Lente? He'd heard rumours of such a thing, rumours that no doubt the helghast embraced, but even so, this was a rather compelling case for it. And if what was said was true, hiding out in this stormwater channel might not be the best course of action.

_Gotta get out of here...find the platoon..._

Which was where, exactly? He was still in the channel, so he hadn't been fished out by them obviously. Had they assumed him to be dead, another victim of his own foolishness? Had they left him here out of vindication, a notion that the lieutenant couldn't disagree with? Or had they been ordered to withdraw? And if to, where? Anywhere but south presumably, hopefully north. Because right now, that seemed the best direction to head towards.

_But how do I do that exactly?_

Taylor quickly glanced around the channel, just waiting for a bullet to pierce his spine. He couldn't see any way out of the giant drain, and even if there was, chances were he'd be seen and shot before he even got back on Miller Street. Right now, the only option was to head east or west. Or, more specifically, down the open channel or into the stormwater tunnel it led into.

"Come on, we should move," he heard one of the higs say. "We'll have an armoured company moving down here within the hour."

_Helghast armour?_ _Shit..._

Staying in the channel wasn't an option. Not if there were going to be tanks and goggle heads rumbling around. No...heading into the tunnel was the only option. After that...well, as dark as it would be, it would beat the infinite darkness that came with death. A darkness that had been filled by his squad mates a few hours ago. Squad mates that he had no desire to face...not yet anyway. Not until he could look them in the eye.

_Which would be _when_, exactly? Chances are you'll die first..._

Gritting his teeth, Taylor glanced up at the northern street, seeing a pair of helghast walking towards the east. It was temping to take them out, but even more tempting to stay out of sight and out of mind.

And as he stumbled into the tunnel, he did just that.

* * *

Rats...a species native to Earth. A species that had spread in accordance with its early explorers. And if the bloodied corpse of one such rodent was any indication, had spread to Vekta as well.

_Figures..._Versilli thought to himself bitterly, holstering his IvP-18 Tropov machine pistol as he did so. _Once Vekta is ours again, there'll be more than one type of vermin to clear out._

It was a waste of ammunition at best and at worst, a siren's cry for ISA soldiers who might be lurking in the sewers of Vekta City. It wouldn't have surprised the helghast in the slightest and all things considered, luring ISA scum to his position might have actually been the best thing that could happen to him-a chance to not only shoot at moving targets, but at targets that could shoot back. After all, ending the lives of dumb rodents could only bring so much satisfaction, let alone cool his anger as to what had happened on the surface-the exploding bridge, the screams of the RRF troopers who had pursued him...he could only assume that his fellow Third Army members had rigged it to blow via bio-signatures. A sound plan in theory, but one that hadn't accounted for fellow helghast being so close to the point of detonation. So, with the rubble flying into the sky and consequently falling victim to gravity, the only thing he could do was jump down an open manhole. And, after finding that the rubble had sealed it, continue on through the sewers looking for an exit. A task at which he had yet to succeed.

_Well, it's not all bad. At least I'm getting plenty of target practice._

As another rat drew its last breath, "target practice" seemed to be an understatement.

Breathing heavily, the NCO supposed there was another reason he was taking out his frustration on these rodents. All in all, they reminded him of himself. A being scurrying around in the dark, unwilling or unable to face down the larger predators. What made the analogy worse was that the UCN didn't have what it took to be a true predator-it let its enemies _think _it was, a delusion that had lasted until ten years ago, but it was all just for show. Just like rats-they could seem scary, but once one got past appearances, they were harmless. Right now, Versilli wanted to do something..._anything _to prove that he wasn't like one of the critters roaming Vekta's underbelly. A chance to show the would-be predators what a true predator was capable of.

And as he heard the burst of what sounded like a M82-G, the sergeant dared hope that such an opportunity might come sooner than expected...

* * *

"Son of a...rats! I've been shooting at rats!"

And talking out loud apparently, but that didn't shame Taylor nearly as much as what had caused him to talk out loud in the first place.

_A rat. A stinking, measly _rat _and I'm opening fire like it's the boogy man!_

Crap, even shooting at the boogy man would have been less shameful, considering that the surface of Vekta was swarming with bogymen. Admittedly bogymen universally dressed in black and wearing gas masks with glowing eyes, but bogymen nonetheless. Had there been a dead helghast lying where the rodent was, he might have felt a sense of pride, or at least grim acceptance that this was war, and it was a case of kill or be killed. But a rat? Bad enough that he'd got members of his platoon killed, but the least he could do was avenge their deaths on individuals who could be held to account for the loss of life.

_Well, maybe after all the centuries rats spent carrying disease on Earth, maybe I've just avenged a few deaths that way..._

Or not. The smell was bad down here, but as far as the lieutenant knew, his mental faculties had yet to be affected by it.

Steadying his grip on his rifle, the RRF trooper began moving forward again, steering his gaze away from the rodent he had murdered. Maybe it wasn't the smell that was getting to him. Maybe it was the feeling of isolation-he'd gone from the shadows of the enemy on the surface to the shadows of his own mind. So it came as a great relief when he saw a faint light at the end of his corridor. And that faint relief became even fainter when he realized that the light came from a fire, but it was situated in a room. A large room. The type of room where he could be walking into an ambush and not even be aware of it.

_But I am aware. This time..._

Gripping his weapon even harder, the lieutenant sprinted towards the wall that separated the passageway he was in from room at large, akin to the bottom part of a **L**. Breathing heavily, he felt and saw numerous dust particles drifting down, like grey snowflakes. Clearly a month of neglect had taken its toll on cleanliness. Suffice to say, it wouldn't be passing the white glove test anytime soon.

_Well, as long as white gloves don't become white flags, I'm not complaining..._

And all in all, Taylor found even less of a reason to complain. As he'd leant against the back of the wall, ready to take the next controlled, calculated yet still risky step into the room as a whole, he'd relied on his senses to give him any indication of what might await him-primarily his sense of sound, considering that the others were of limited use to him in regards to detecting the enemy without exposing himself. But while he had detected _something_, it certainly didn't the sound like a helghast. No...with its faint whine, its quivering whimper, Taylor knew exactly what it sounded like.

_A dog? Down here?_

The whine continued, so there was no disputing the sound. As for the source...well, not every citizen of Vekta City had made it out safely and it stood to reason that not all of their pets would have either. And with a war raging on the surface, the sewers might have been the safest option. Heck, with all the rats around, dogs certainly wouldn't go hungry down here...

_Well...time to play fetch then..._

Crouching down and activating his rifle's laser targeter for good measure, Taylor began moving forward. If there was a dog here, he didn't want to scare it. If the enemy was here, he didn't want to present more of his body than he needed to. Luckily, as a wagging tail behind a piece of rubble showed, it was the case of the former. The far more preferable option.

"Here boy," Taylor whispered, rising to his feet, desiring a friendly face no matter how briefly. "I'm not gonna-..."

_Grr..._

_...bite._

It was a dog. A dog with glowing orange eyes via a mask. A dog with a _metal jaw_. A dog that just stared at him, growling. A dog that clearly wasn't from Vekta and as far as the lieutenant knew, no sane UCN territory in this galaxy or the next. Feeling his mouth dry faster than a cruiser at warp, the RRF trooper raised his rifle. Shooting rats was one thing. But dogs? Was it a monster naturally, or had it just been browbeaten?

_Is there even a difference with the helghast?_

Taylor almost wished the mutt would charge-at least he'd be able to shoot in genuine self defence. But it just stood there...growling...its head going up and down...as if...calling for its master? Its mate? Or maybe...the helghast on the walkway above? A helghast that was only now looking down...and no doubt seeing the source of the guard dog's growing...

_Shit shit shit!_

The CO let out a yell, his outburst overshadowed by the roar of his M82-G. No thought, no hesitation, just instinct. Instinct to pull the trigger and keep pulling it as he sidestepped towards cover. Instinct to keep firing, trying to hit the goggle head while he hoped not to get hit in turn. Within seconds, it was more a focus on the latter. The helghast was staying in place, not budging whilst Taylor was trying to do too much at once. And not being a fascist fanatic, he put self preservation first.

Just as well all things considered. As he dived down behind a piece of rubble, dust puffed up from the ground to remind him what would have happened had he stayed in one place for too long. A place like the piece of rubble. A place where, while the helghast couldn't hit him from where he stood, the dog was another story.

And as it jumped over the rubble, knocking the lieutenant down and baring his fangs at his dirt-encrusted visage, all Taylor could hope for was that the dog's story wouldn't be his last.

* * *

_It was the best of times, it was the worst of times._

Versilli wasn't sure who had written those words, but considering that it wasn't someone from Helghan, it wasn't important anyway. Still, right now it seemed appropriate. It was the best of times because finally, after hours of trudging through Vekta City's underbelly, he'd finally come across an enemy combatant. It was the worst of time however, because it seemed that a guard dog was going to beat him to the kill. Orders had trickled down to the Third Army that Helghan guard dogs were to be used in place of sentry drones due to the machines' mechanical failures, but they were still meant to act as patrollers. Here however, the mutt seemed to be about to do the next best thing-tear the human's face off.

_Shame it can't be the neck...but I suppose RRF body armour has to be good for _something.

Certainly the human's neck was protected, as the ISA's body armour extended to a thick neck collar.

"Bloody...mutt...off...me..."

"Save your breath human, you'll need it to scream when Fido starts tearing into you."

The trooper glanced up at the sergeant, his dirty, scared gaze meeting Versilli's cold, mask-shielded one. A momentary distraction, but it was all the time that 'Fido' needed to get in for the kill. Or, at least try to. Because as its metal jaws snapped forward, the human managed to grab its neck with both his hands, whereas previously he'd had a less secure grip around its shoulder blades. It had made its ripstoe, and the ISA grunt had parried efficiently.

_But can his sword stop bullets?_

Raising his rifle, Versilli supposed the answer was no. Guard dogs were efficient, but they were meant to be just that-guard dogs. Visari's soldiers would bring victory in his name. Victory and judgement. Judgement that echoed from the barrels of Stahl Arms weaponry. Judgement that, as he opened fire, as the RRF soldier tossed the dog over the rubble, tore into the canine instead of the hairless ape.

_Son of a...!_

Bad timing or bad luck, Versilli had at least one of the two. And as he stood there, stunned, he gave the human all the time he needed to recover and become a threat again.

"Eat lead goggle head!"

Or not. Because apparently racial slurs was the only thing his enemy could do right. True, he could fire grenades from his rifle's underslung grenade launcher, but as Versilli ducked the projectile, apparently hitting his targets wasn't among his list of competencies.

"You missed human..." the sergeant sneered.

The human smiled faintly. "Did I?"

Short answer-yes.

Medium answer-what's that groaning sound?

Long answer-wait a minute...that grenade weakened the structural supports of the walkway. So that means, it's going to...

**Crash!**

Collapse!

No answer came after that.

It was impossible as Versilli plunged down with the walkway and into unconsciousness.

* * *

_A/N_

_So yeah, the first live-action ad adapted. The only one where the RRF protagonist gives the impression of being competent. XD_


	3. Wrath

**Killzone: Underworld**

**Chapter 3: Wrath**

"Man, you're ugly..."

James Taylor almost wished the helghast was still alive right now. True, the only good hig was a dead hig, but it was tempting, _so _tempting to throw in a "your mother" joke in with that comment. But it was only worth it if the bastard was alive to hear it. Besides, who was to say what the guy's mother really thought about her little baby nearly twenty-four astronomical units away from home as part of an attack on a world that the helghast considered theirs. Proud? Ashamed? Worried?

The lieutenant shook his head. He was overanalysing. The hig was dead, the dog was dead and if he didn't start moving, he might soon be dead as well.

Yet he felt compelled to stay. He'd bagged a confirmed kill, and some morbid side of him wanted to make the most of it. So even when Rapid Reaction Force training compelled him to be just that-rapid, the trooper was now anything but. Indeed, it was hard to be rapid when you were kneeling down and staring at your enemy's orange eyes.

_What's up with those helmets anyway? I mean, do they really need them to breathe? Or do they just want to look intimidating?_

Taylor didn't know. Not even after giving one of the lenses a few taps for good measure. He supposed it had some merit-the helghast seemed to be dead, but he couldn't find any distinct source. The fall alone shouldn't have been enough to kill him...and while he couldn't hear any breathing, what about his mask? Would that shield the sound of his enemy's breath?

_Still, if the bastard is still alive...that's easily solvable._

The lieutenant blinked, and not because of the sweat trickling down from his forehead, carrying a generous amount of dirt with it. Kill a prisoner? A defenceless man? Granted they were at war, and the helghast were the aggressors, but even so...he was a human being, a servant of the ISA...was _this _all he could amount to? To kill someone in cold blood without even having the balls to look them in the eye?

_His eyes...wonder what he looks like..._

The trooper subconsciously reached for the helmet's clasps, murmuring "let's see what's under there" as he did so. It was morbid, it was almost insulting, but somehow, he couldn't stop. Just a peek...just a little unlatch, just a glance at the face of the man he'd killed, just a-...

"**Arghhhh!"**

Taylor let out a yell of anguish. "Just a hand grabbing you by the neck and choking you" wasn't on his 'just' list. Nor was the helghast slowly getting up, rising from the grave and bringing his foe's face to meet his. It...was terrifying, the lieutenant reflected, feeling his face be pulled into sync with the helghast's. Like looking into the face of the devil, feeling his gaze burn you from the inside out.

And as the helghast slammed Taylor's skull against the adjacent wall, knocking him out cold, it felt quite painful as well.

* * *

"You sleep like an infant, human. Maybe you are one."

Unlike the ISA swine, Versilli held his words back until he was sure the individual they were directed towards was actually awake. A state of being that hadn't come soon enough. True, he hadn't wanted the RRF soldier to regain consciousness while he was getting his walking legs back, nor while he secured him, but even so...a bump on the head shouldn't have kept him out _this _long. Then again, none of the RRF wore helmets for some reason, so he supposed that maybe it was all relative.

The human let out a groan. Behind his mask, the sergeant's visage drew into a sneer.

"Reversal of fortune...it's a bitter pill to swallow isn't it? Just like this world really...yours for so long, it's hard to accept that it's back in its rightful owners' hands."

"Vekta...isn't...yours..."

Versilli gave him another blow across the head for that.

"I think you already know that your chances of survival aren't that good right now..." the Helghan began, beginning to pace around with a machine pistol in hand, as if he were an instructor back at the Radec Academy. "I think you also know that if you don't toe the line, you'll be back with your friends in the gutter. God knows it's where both you and they belong, but-..."

The human let out an expletive and struggled to get to his feet, letting out curses like the savage he was. It was all for nought though, courtesy of the rope that bound him to the pipe that Versilli had tied him up to.

"Defiance is refreshing, considering how many of your people didn't even have the courage to stand and fight when we first landed," Versilli said, remembering the shuttle maintenance staff who'd been the first to fall to the Third Army when their dropships had first touched down. "But too much of it is tiresome. And consider this, _human_-if you become tiresome, what reason do I have _not _to put a bullet in your brain?

The human shut up. Typical. Gratifying, true, but still, _typical_.

"Now that I have your attention, I'm going to get back to business," Versilli began. "I can see by your shoulder insignias that you're a commissioned officer, so I assume that you know a thing or two that could help the Helghan Empire. So if I find a way out of these sewers, I may be able to take you along. If not...well, work that out for yourself."

The man remained silent, but the sergeant wasn't fooled. He'd learnt the difference between silence stemming from defiance and silence stemming from fear. And while on the outside the RRF trooper seemed defiant, inside Versilli could see him as the scared infant he was. Clearly getting to positions of power through actual achievement was a concept that humanity failed to grasp.

"So, unless there's anything you might like to tell me now...I'll be off."

Giving the bastard a kick for good measure, Versilli holstered his pistol-glad to be gone.

This place stunk enough even without cowards making him feel even more ill.

* * *

This situation was...enlightening. And for all the wrong reasons.

Up until this point, Taylor wasn't sure that the helghast even took prisoners. Granted, they hadn't been in a situation to take POWs for over a century, but still, after all he'd seen and heard over the past month...being taken a prisoner by one of the fascists was a surprise. Not necessarily a _pleasant _surprise, but a surprise nonetheless.

_But do I stay as a prisoner? Or is my body going to be slouched against this pipe for other reasons?_

Sitting there...facing the firing chamber of a handgun...waiting for the blood to pour out of his forehead, trickling out of the open wound, making a pool on the stone cold floor of his tomb...

The lieutenant shook the image off. He had better things to think about. Such as how to avoid such a fate.

The ropes were tight, cutting into his wrists and hindering circulation as well, given the lack of feeling the CO had in his hands right now. Simply wriggling out of them wasn't an option, nor was yanking the pipe lose. But then again, there was a third option. Or what _felt _like a third option. Because while his hands had lost most of their feeling, they hadn't lost so much that he couldn't feel how jagged some of the pipe was. Enough to maybe cut the rope and get free.

_Blood from my hands, or blood from my forehead...little choice..._

Gritting his teeth, Taylor began rubbing. It was painful, it was unpleasant, but it seemed to be working. And in a surprisingly short amount of time, he was free. And so was the blood to circulate through his eight fingers, two thumbs and the pieces of flesh they were attached to.

_And hands similar but different bound them in the first place..._

It was tempting to wax philosophical, and less than twenty-four hours ago, the lieutenant might have done so. Yet he felt...different, somehow, to the extent where such an impulse was able to be ignored. His men were dead, he'd survived more attacks himself, yet he'd failed to kill his foe...if this was his baptism of fire, it had yet to reach boiling point. Yet somehow, he wanted it to. He wanted to take out that son-of-a-bitch and make him pay. Pay for every citizen of Vekta who'd lost their life to the helghast war machine and send his head back to Helghan on a platter with a large _Do not fuck with the ISA _carved on his forehead.

_Art...it's a wonderful thing_.

So were weapons. But like Taylor's artistic talent, they were missing. No rifle, no pistol, not even a combat knife. The helghast might have done a poor job in binding him, but he clearly had _some _brains behind the mask.

Flexing his fingers and savouring the warm, tingly feeling that ran through them, the trooper weighed his options. Ambush was, surprisingly, was the first considered. Unsurprisingly though, it was dropped. There were no real hiding places in these tunnels-certainly not around this particular spot at least. And there were so many side-paths and alternate routes that he could be waiting for the helghast to come by one route, only to be ambushed in turn. And of course, there was the fact that he had nothing to ambush him with but his bare hands. And after his little encounter with the 'arm of the living dead,' Taylor wasn't too keen on engaging the hig in CQC.

_So I make my own way out of here. And hope I don't encounter the bastard along the way._

A simple plan, and one that could easily go south. But right now, it was the best one.

Hopefully this plan wouldn't involve a bridge blowing up this time.

* * *

_God damnit, where's the exit to this bloody maze?_

Versilli supposed he should stop bringing "God" into this. If the bearded madman really existed, then three possibilities existed. The first was that Man was created in His image and that He had nothing to do with the superior helghast race, who would therefore have to seize their destiny without divine intervention. The second was that He had always intended the helghast to replace his original flawed creation and as such, Versilli shouldn't take His name in vain. The third was that He wanted nothing to do with his bickering children and as such, the helghast would make do without him.

It was the third possibility that appealed to the sergeant the most. If the helghast managed to claim their rightful place in this universe, he wanted the credit to go to the helghast alone.

Still, whatever the nature of intelligent design or lack of it, none of that was relevant to the task of making it to the surface. Just corridors upon corridors with little writing. And when there _was _writing, it was almost always illegible. Versilli knew the basics of written English, but coupled with how faded the letters were, it was hard to distinguish them. And since most of them were section codes anyway, trying to read them at all seemed like a wasted endeavour. Just as his latest search, which had led to a dead end.

So now here he was, on his way back to where the lieutenant was. To find another way out and give the bastard another good kick while he was at it.

_Or a bullet in the head..._

Despite his early speech, Versilli wasn't sure whether the human could, or even should be taken prisoner. His words had been true, but they'd mainly been spoken to scare the man into submission. The lieutenant might be able to prove a nuisance and who was to say he knew anything of worth at all? Everything the Third Army needed to know about Vekta's defences had been leaked by an ISA traitor. What would one little CO be able to add?

_A good question...maybe I'll ask it when next I see him._

Which could be a long time. Because as he rounded the corner to where he'd left the RRF prisoner, Versilli saw that the prisoner in question was nowhere to be seen.

"God damnit!"

And there was God again. Bastard was probably laughing his head off.

Cut ropes, the absence of the enemy...he'd escaped and made the Helghan look like an idiot in the process. Versilli began pacing around, but not with any of the style or finesse that he'd possessed earlier. No-one to lecture for starters, and his former confidence had been shattered and replaced with rage. Burning at him like the burning of a rocket, unable to vent out into this world's sky...this was...not acceptable. Not for him nor any helghast, NCO or otherwise.

_It's alright though..._Versilli told himself. _He won't have his weapons, considering that I dumped them down into a lower section. And chances are he's as lost as I am. He's simply...prey. And I have the means to take him out._ Maybe the lieutenant wouldn't be a prisoner. Maybe he'd be sport , as the sergeant reflected as he un-slung his rifle, anything was better than just wandering around aimlessly.

Yes...hunting down the ISA grunt would be _much _better...

_A simple plan...make my way out of here and hope I don't encounter the bastard along the way._

Simple plans were often good ones. Less chance of having the enemy screwing it up, less chance of yourself screwing it up and a point all in itself, far easier to remember. Complicated plans had their place in the world, but as far as Taylor understood, it was always preferable to go with simplicity.

Understood...as in past tense.

Right now, the simplicity of his plan was showing itself to be paper thin. "Getting out of here" wasn't getting him out of anything and "hope I don't encounter the bastard along the way," while it had yet to be broken, wasn't proving to be much of a consolation. Because after the better part of an hour of running around through here, he knew he was lost. It stank, it was dark, there was an angry helghast around somewhere and right now, the lieutenant couldn't think of anything to alter such a grim status quo.

* * *

_A simple plan...it's gone to hell without even making contact with the enemy..._

It was strange, but it was as if the bullet-ridden corpse of an ISA regular had been placed there in testament to that fact.

_Poor bastard..._

Kneeling down, and trying to ignore the smell, the lieutenant felt glad the dead man's eyes were facing downward rather than at an angle where he could actually meet them. The Regulars were said to be the lifeblood of the ISA forces and right now, it seemed that a good chunk of that blood had been splattered left, right and centre of the poor sod. Feeling like a ghoul, but managing to suppress his self-disgust regardless, Taylor reached out for his gear-a M82 with no rounds left, a M4 semi-automatic pistol with three rounds left and perhaps the only useful piece of equipment present, a field radio.

_Pistol's pretty much a popgun at this point and the rifle's worse than useless..._the lieutenant reflected grimly, holstering it nonetheless. _But the radio..._

Leaning against the wall, the trooper held up the receiver with one hand whilst fiddling with the settings of amplitude, frequency and wavelength with the other. He knew a few ISA frequencies that he could rely on, but down here, under Vekta City, he'd have to do some adjustment of amplitude and wavelength as well.

"This is Lieutenant James Taylor, Rapid Reaction Force, seeking to contact any ISA forces in or near Vekta City..." the soldier began. "Please respond, over."

Something told the lieutenant he'd be saying that a lot. That something turned out to be his voice itself, complimented by the whining of the radio, as if complaining about its settings being continually adjusted. Taylor ignored it though-if anyone had any reason to complain, it was him.

_But then again..._the lieutenant reflected grimly, remembering all those he'd led to their death on the surface. _It's not like I have the right to..._

"This is Lieutenant James Taylor, Rapid Reaction Force, seeking to-..."

"...geant...receiving..."

"Hello?" the trooper asked the radio, ceasing his fiddling with the knobs immediately. "Are you receiving me?"

"...peat...faint...please..."

_A lifeline. Now I need to pull myself up on it..._

"This is Lieutenant James Taylor, Rapid Reaction Force..." the trooper announced forcefully, trying to keep each of his words as distinct as possible. "I'm trapped in the sewers under Vekta City."

"...that. Sewers...location..."

Taylor blinked. Was the user asking for his location? Did he have a lock on his location somehow? Did he-...

**Bam!**

Taylor blinked again. So did his heartbeat.

"Interrupting something, scum?"

The lieutenant remained quiet for a second, paralysed with fear.

Even a single helghast walking out of the gloom tended to have that effect on people.

"I need help, now, damnit!" the lieutenant yelled into the radio. "My coordinates-..."

The trooper dived aside as he heard the helghast's rifle let out another raw, like that of a triumphant predator closing in on its prey. Or toying with it. Because while the hig could have shot him easily, he'd opted for the radio instead.

"Argh, die you son of a bitch!"

Three shots-that was all Taylor had in the pistol. And as the helghast took cover himself, he wasted every one of them. Heck, even throwing the gun at the bastard was more effective-at least it actually hit him.

"Pitiful...it's remarkable that you can even operate a radio."

Taylor sat there, watching. Watching as the helghast neared. Watching as he clutched his rifle. Watching as he saw the angel of death come to judge him for his sins.

Watched as the helghast clenched the rifle in his hands, bringing it down...

* * *

_A/N_

_I actually intended on making the strangling scene a whole chapter originally, as per my intent of having one chapter per ad segment and filling in the rest with original material. Indeed, it was like this right up to the point when I came to said chapter. However, I quickly realized that a few seconds of footage does not a chapter make, or at least not a very good one. Hence, I merged the chapters together._


	4. Retribution

**Killzone: Underworld**

**Chapter 4: Retribution**

The shield was up, the sword came down, and the two sheets of iron met.

Fine, moving, poetic and had this conflict existed over a millennium ago, might have actually been true. But it was the twenty-fourth century and no human nor helghast was actually going to use a sword or shield in combat. Yet even now, in the Second Extrasolar War, close combat was a possibility. Close combat that involved a helghast sergeant bringing down the butt of his rifle-the proverbial sword. Close combat that involved a RRF lieutenant raising his arms to protect himself-the proverbial shield. And whilst it wasn't iron meeting iron, bone and sinew were still destined to clash. Because having assumed Taylor to be helpless, resistance to his blow was the last thing Versilli had expected. And even as his arms throbbed, even as his breathing increased, Taylor had the upper hand, if only briefly. And right now, in this point of time and space, he would take advantage of it.

Or, as he grabbed the StA52, at least try to.

"Going...down..." the lieutenant rasped, pressing the rifle against the hig's neck and slamming him against the wall. The sergeant remained silent. Maybe he had nothing to say. Maybe in this last fight, there was nothing left to say. Or maybe he was saving himself to push back. To channel his own strength, grab the rifle from the human's grasp and begin firing. Because that was what he did at least. And only thanks to Taylor regaining his grip on the rifle were the sewers spared a second corpse. They weren't, however, spared bullet holes and dust as the rifle roared, its bullets tearing into the ceiling as Versilli fired while Taylor prevented him from actually hitting his target.

"Son...of...a...bitch!"

"You would know..."

"Fuck you!"

The dance continued-angel and demon, duelling between Heaven and Hell. The shell casings rained down upon Purgatory. Only when the last of the projectile's vessels did the embrace end. Having fired the rifle all this time, Versilli had the best idea as to when it would run out of ammunition. And as such, he had the best idea of using the weapon's underslung shotgun to reduce his foe's visage to bloody pulp.

And like before, it almost worked. Almost...

Taylor couldn't explain it, how he knew to side-step to the right just before his enemy fired. The shot rang out, its tone reverberating through the passage in a symphony of dissonance, but he was fine physically. Letting out a battle-cry, he did his best to ensure that Versilli would be on the other end of the physical spectrum. A side-kick...one that failed to hit the hig, but at least removed the rifle from his hands. A rifle that was empty. A rifle that, in light of the helghast's holstered pistol, was as academic as its removal.

"Shit..."

The trooper expected it to end then and there. To watch the helghast un-holster his pistol, shoot him more times than was necessary to ensure that he was dead and then...well, he wouldn't be in a position to care. Yet it was an expectation that wasn't met, a fact only realized as Taylor watched his enemy get into a CQC position. Honour? Sadism? Overconfidence? Whatever. He'd been given a chance. And as he summoned what little he remembered from his physical training, he prepared to fight. Sword to shield...man to man...or at least a spin-off from mankind...

A spin-off that, as the lieutenant found out, had a pretty painful left hook.

"Did that hurt?" the goggle-head sneered, watching as Taylor reeled back from his strike. "I hope so..."

The lieutenant's first response was to spit the blood that had built up in his throat at his foe. His second response was to jump back as that tactic proved its worthlessness and the fascist continued his attack. The fight had barely begun and already he was on the defensive. RRF body armour provided more protection than its helghast equivalent, but it had been designed with projectiles in mind. CQC was another matter entirely, and the helghast could throw numerous blows at his face and lower body, with Taylor lacking the speed and agility to hold his own.

"Do you feel it?" the helghast sneered, grasping the lieutenant's fists as he made a sortie, kicking him in the gut the next second and regaining his posture in the second after that. "Closing in around you?"

"Go to Hell."

"Only after you."

Which, as his fist made contact with the lieutenant's nose with a sickening _crack_, seemed fated to come sooner than later.

The trooper stumbled backwards-blood spurted out of his nose, his vision was blurry and something, likely the hig's foot, made contact with the back of his left leg. He gritted his teeth, regretting it as a fist made contact with his mouth. All in all, the only relief he felt was when he tumbled backwards, saved from falling on the cold hard floor by a railing. A railing that was all that was keeping him from falling him into flowing sewerage below.

"Filth to drown in filth..." the helghast sneered. "It's hard to tell which is more repulsive..."

Taylor remained silent-his vision was blurry, his face was aching and his left leg felt like it was going to give way. Better to let the helghast think he had the advantage. Better to let him gloat while he regained his strength. Better to-...

_Click._

"...what?"

Even through the blurred vision, the trooper could see the pistol pressed against his forehead. Even with his face bloody and bruised, he could feel the helghast's hand against his chin-the next best thing after taking his neck, which his armour prevented. Even with...no...he couldn't feel much else. Only..._it_...closing in around him. Inevitability.

"I'm through with you..." the hig said simply, pulling back the firing mechanism. "And that's all I've got left to say..."

Taylor wanted to say something...anything...an insult, a retort...anything to let him go out in a blaze of sound that amounted to more than just a gunshot. But he couldn't. Wouldn't. Not because of the pain. Not because of inevitability. No...it was because deep down, on some level of his consciousness, James Taylor felt like he deserved to die. Deserved to meet the same fate as his men. Deserved to perish as Vekta fell to plunderers and...and...

"No!"

Vekta deserved more. Even if he didn't. And with a sudden movement, he grabbed the helghast's pistol, the shot ringing out but again missing his target. Grabbed the helghast's arm as he was pushed over the railing. Grabbed fistfuls of dirty water as both soldiers fell into the river of sewerage, carried along in its flow.

A flow of inevitability...but also one that would lead to an exit...

* * *

He was swimming in filth while tangling with filth and as a result, Hans Versilli felt...filthy.

The struggle...eternal...as inevitable as the flow of water itself, as continuous as water's cycle. Nothing could break it-not the residue the water carried, not even the individuals swept along in its current. All they could do was go with the flow, and hope that by the end of it, only one would make his way onto dry land.

The NCO snarled, making his way over to the RRF grunt as best he could in the current and reached out for him. Not for contact, not for comfort, rather only out of the desire to grab his neck, shove his head underwater and hold it there for as long as possible. In this regard, the human had made it easy for him, having removed his body armour in what was presumably an attempt to keep it from dragging him down. A wise course of action, but one that was ultimately futile.

Futile...so similar to inevitability.

It was inevitability that the trooper fought against. Versilli reached out, only for the CO to swing out his arm in an attempt to ward him off. It was mainly successful, and the helghast was sent reeling. He was sent back even further as the human managed to make contact with his stomach with his good leg, sending him back even further. Pain however, was non-existent. His clothing was soaked, and while that weighed him down, the increased density of the fabric gave him extra protection. Right now, the possibility of drowning was the greater threat than anything the terran could come up with.

_Lost my pistol after he seized it...only a matter of time until he loses his own life..._

At least that was what Versilli thought until the human grabbed him by the neck, forcing him underwater for the next few seconds until a pipe broke his grip. Yet the helghast barely noticed as water blocked his vision. The bastard had actually loosened his helmet, allowing the sewerage to seep in.

_Son of a..._

Swinging a fist, the sergeant gave his foe's broken nose more of a makeover.

Inevitability...it seemed to be going along the road of futility right now. Both soldiers could throw blows in the water, but such was its rate of flow, neither of them could stay together long enough to do any serious damage. Or at least that used to be the case. Because quite literally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel-the shore of Vekta City. The exit of the pipe. A removal from the stench of human excretement. And even as the human grasped at his helmet one last time, it mattered little. The grip was lost as the lieutenant and sergeant were swept out onto the sand.

It was an interesting sensation, considering that Versilli had never felt sand before on Helghan. What was even more interesting was that he could feel it at all.

But considering that his foe had managed to tear his helmet off, maybe that was to be expected...

* * *

_Son of a...man, you're ugly._

Never mind the stench of sewerage. Never mind that a great deal of it had gone down its throat and left an aftertaste that felt like he'd been drinking from a clogged receptacle. Never mind that even though the sun had risen, he was freezing. Never mind that he'd made a similar comment not too long ago that led to him being strangled. No...all that mattered was that in the course of their aquatic scuffle, he had torn the hig's helmet off. And with his sunken in skin, pale eyes and striking baldness...well, "ugly" was the first word to come to mind, but it was just the tip of the iceberg.

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Taylor!"

And thus the iceberg moved closer. Or, rather, a squad of ISA regulars.

"Sir!" exclaimed their sergeant. "We recieved your radio signal, and..." He trailed off, he and the rest of his squad raising their rifles.

_The helghast...more troopers...ready to kill for me..._

"Leave him," Taylor grunted, rubbing the blood and water from his face as he stared at the hig. "He's mine."

Or would be, after he got the goggle-head off him as the helghast charged into him, sending him sprawling into the sand.

"You seek to fight alone..." the hig sneered, closing his fingers around Taylor's throat. "Impressive...but even if your men take my life, it'll only be after I take yours."

"Sounds like...a fair trade..."

The helghast loosened his grip, apparently surprised at such a statement. It was all the surprise the lieutenant needed to grab some sand, toss it into the bastard's eyes and with a kick from his own leg, break the bastard's nose. Eye for an eye...sort of.

"Miss your mask?" Taylor sneered, staggering to his feet and ignoring the pain that shot through his crippled leg, the feeling akin to a serpent moving through the marrow of his bones. "Can't face me without a shield?"

"All I need is a sword!"

Or rather, two hands. Two hands that wrapped around his legs, sending Taylor toppling. Or one hand, to bring it down to the human's face...only for that hand to be grabbed by the terran's own, holding it in place while he hit the helghast with his second.

"Sir, do you need-..."

"Stay back!" the lieutenant yelled. "Just stay out of this!"

Staggering to his feet, Taylor noticed two things-that the regulars were showing loyalty he felt had yet to be earnt, and that he was moving faster than the helghast. While crippled, and seemingly in much more pain, he'd successfully ditched his body armour, leaving fatigues that, while soaked, didn't impede his movement. The hig on the other hand was in his full black, heavy uniform. And soaked with water, it was weighing him down. And given how close they were to the beach break, it would be a simple task to soak him even further.

_Sea to his back, regulars to his right, rocks to his left and me to his front...bastard isn't going anywhere..._

This wasn't a hunt. It was a duel. And there would be none after it.

Staggering forward with the determination of an ox, the helghast swung a punch...that missed, as Taylor ducked under it. Gritting his teeth, he dived forward, sending the two of them splashing into the freezing Vektan sea.

"Going to drown me?" the helghast sneered as Taylor took his throat in a grip as strong as he could muster. "Is that all you can amount to?"

A moment's hesitation...that was all that was required. All that was required for the helghast to kick the CO in the stomach, sending him sprawling back onto the sand. All that was required to give the non-human enough time to get to his feet, grab his foe by the neck and slam the back of his skull against the rocks.

"Gah!"

"Hurts, doesn't it?" the helghast sneered. "Always wondered why you RRF types didn't wear helmets."

Taylor grimaced...he'd often wondered the same thing himself. Wondered as much as the regulars were wondering why he wasn't telling them to open fire and pepper his foe with bullets.

They wondered because they hadn't been there in Vekta City...when he'd seen the bodies of his comrades on a surface as cold and unforgiving as this...

But Taylor wouldn't join them. The helghast would. And while the hig brought his fist down, Taylor's good leg made contact with the fascist's own first, sending him toppling. A brief respite, but all that was needed for him to get what he needed to finish this once and for all. A rock. And if he was David, Goliath was going down.

"I'm not going to drown you..." the trooper whispered. "I need something to remove your ugly mug."

The helghast remained silent. Maybe he had nothing to say. Maybe nothing needed to be said. Either way, it didn't matter. For as his foe brought the boulder down upon his face, crushing his skull, he'd never be able to say anything again.

As he fell onto the sand, exhausted, Taylor wasn't sure whether he'd be able to say anything either.


	5. Epilogue: Aftermath

**Killzone: Underworld**

**Epilogue: Aftermath**

"Well sir, this is the deal. Your leg's nearly broken, your nose _is _broken and...well, quite frankly, you stink. _Really _stink."

"Thank you private. Is that all?"

"Yeah...that's it."

Taylor watched as the medic rose to her feet, silently walking off to socialize with the rest of the regulars on the beach. From ice queen to the process of sublimation within seconds, and the end of that process in an even shorter amount of time. But physics weren't the trooper's main interest, so he decided not to start thinking of ways of using every other form of matter transition to describe his situation. After all, his situation could speak for itself...even if he couldn't speak for it in turn.

"Did you see the guy? Totally nailed the hig."

"Yeah...but where's the rest of his squad? He's not a shadow marshal, he must have a platoon or something."

And in this case, let the regulars speak for his situation as well.

Taylor had since realized that "squad" might have been too generous an assessment, considering that the regulars only numbered as six and seemed to have little cohesion. While he'd had his physical state examined, some of them had dumped the helghast's body in a place "fitting" for him, some of them had complimented him on his "wasting of the fucker," some of them joked in response that as they weren't marines, they weren't obliged to swear every few seconds and the rest of them just stood around, doing nothing. Hard to believe that only six of them could perform such a wide variety of tasks and have Taylor notice them all.

_Too bad I wasn't as observant back at Vekta City..._

In a way, the trooper was glad that the regulars were now all doing their own thing. He wanted to be left alone, not put in a position where he could socialize with men and women that he was liable to get killed. Yes, he'd killed a single helghast in single combat, but as the lieutenant bitterly reminded himself, the helghast should have been dead on Dorothy Street and his men still alive. And after all, the helghast had had a dozen opportunities to kill him. Overconfident, true...but at least the goggle-head's overconfidence hadn't gotten his men killed.

_Only good hig is a dead hig...but I guess the helghast say the same of us. Maybe I should be the one lying on the beach. Maybe the guy deserved to win..._

"So, lieutenant, you ready to move?"

"...what?"

Taylor looked up at the regular above him, quickly deducing from the markings on his armour that he was a sergeant with the surname of Zigler. Two facts that Taylor wished were different-he didn't want to be the only CO on this bloody beach and names were overrated. Even _when _he knew them, he was only going to remember them after the poor sods had died.

"Private Coyle tells me the hig did some damage, but you pulled through. Nice job taking him-..."

"Luck, sergeant. Blind luck. Now either say something important or piss off."

"...your platoon's as dead as that helghast you nailed, aren't they?"

A chill ran down the CO's spine, and not just because of the cold sea breeze. He gazed up at Zigler, the man clearly in the here and now. No loitering, no jokes, just facts. Facts that Taylor felt compelled to remind himself of rather than letting others do it for him.

"Well?" the NCO continued. "Did vindication help?"

"No..." Taylor mused sullenly, averting his gaze and staring down at the sand. "It didn't. Because the helghast didn't kill them. I did. You want to praise me for taking out the hig? Don't. I don't deserve it."

"Fine. You don't. But you don't deserve to lie down on the job either."

The lieutenant glanced back up at Zigler. He also glanced at the M66-SD submachine gun being held out to him.

"We've all lost people," the sergeant grunted, gesturing to his squad and confirming what Taylor already suspected, that it was a band of survivors that had grouped together rather than any coherent unit. "Deal with it. Because right now, our only priority is to head north to Rayhoven and ensure that we lose as few other people as possible. Take what you can from this and give it back tenfold to the invading bastards when the time comes for it. But in the meantime, you're leading us."

Taylor snorted, marvelling at the notion of Zigler _telling _him to take command when not too long ago, Eubanks would have considered that the last thing he wanted. Just further proof that NCOs were crazy, whether they be RRF, regulars, or any other piece of meat the ISA could provide.

"Let's say I actually _want _to lead you guys..." the trooper began, his words as deliberate and regular as the break of the waves on the sand. "What makes you think I'm up to the job?"

"You're alive when many others aren't. And that's eating away at you. That's all the proof I need."

The lieutenant sighed. No doubt there was another metaphor he could use, but right now, he couldn't summon one.

Zigler wasn't going to back down. And maybe that was for the best. After all, as he'd said, they'd all lost people. Yet Zigler had gone on. His men had gone on. And like it or not, he'd have to go on as well. Go on with the ghosts of his men following him...and hope to lay them to rest. To live with himself as well...to learn from those ghosts and ensure as few people joined their ranks as possible.

_Yeah..._Taylor thought to himself as he took hold of the SMG and rose to his feet, the wind at his back and the sun in his face. _I can live with that..._

* * *

This is Vekta. A Hell among the stars. The black eye of Alpha Centauri B. A shattered world of the United Colonial Nations. A testament to mankind's ability to push the boundaries of the extent to which one can commit mass murder.

It is what the armoured company passing down Dorothy Street takes note of. The bodies, both human and helghast, both usurpers and reclaimers, all of them meat for the grinder. 100% casualties for both sides. More ISA troopers than the helghast, but to those in the company, it matters little. This is their world. Was their world. Will be their world again. The Helghan Empire will take back what was once theirs and the ISA and UCN will tremble in fear, knowing that their imperialistic course cannot continue indefinitely. Earth will pay for its crimes and the blood spilt on Vekta will become as blood spilt throughout the stars.

This is Vekta. And the helghast will never stop.

_Never_...

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, that's that done. Another story finished. Hopefully a bit better than the ads it was based on. _

_By way of shameless plugging, there's no other _Killzone _stories on my 'to write' list at this point in time. My current writing focus right now is on a _Battlestar Galactica _fic titled _Final Five_. And...um, that's about it._


End file.
